I am still alive, no thanks to me.
Looking up at tree's that hurt my neck.
Eye's a pasty white how should I look?
Knowing, she has come to my retreat.
There is no more time than what you have.
Giving up on death, she touched my face.
All that time before my birth it left me as.
There is no peace in death, there is no sleep.
Here from where I sit I see them all and if
to care not more, but never nothing less.
With the price of real estate the fire shall
taste my flesh.
Are you now more lonely than in life, I ever was?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem